she think she knows? “Who?”
“Coach.”
One word that says she knows more than she should. “Mia—”
“Coach was on Deadman’s Curve on New Year’s Eve. Coach hit Nic and Brogan.”
I should have told her the truth before. I should never have waited. But no choice seems right when each means someone gets hurt. Or worse. “Mia—”
“I have to turn him in. There’s still blood under the car. Not deer blood. Human blood, Arrow. I climbed under there myself and took a sample to the lab at BHU. I got the call this morning. Coach told the police he hit a deer, but it’s not deer blood. He did it, and I have to turn him in.”
I shake my head, my mind running too fast and in too many directions. “You don’t.”
“Everybody’s been talking. You’ve heard them. They’ve been running their mouths about my brother for months. They think this was Nic’s fault.”
Where do I start? “Slow down.”
“I knew how you’d feel.” She folds her arms and draws in a ragged breath. “That’s why I wanted to say goodbye. I owe it to my brother. He’d cleaned up, and they all ran their mouths like he hadn’t. I owe it to him and everything he did for my family. I need to tell the police who was responsible for what happened that night.”
I want to pull her into my arms and hold her one last time. Because she was right when she burst in here. Everything changes after this. I could kiss her, hold her close, and taste her lips one last time before she hates me. I don’t let myself. “It wasn’t Coach.”
“I’m sorry, Arrow. I know how important he is to you. But we’re talking about my brother, and I just . . .” She starts pacing, her arms wrapped tight around herself.
I have to grip the bed to keep myself from wrapping her up in my arms, to keep from begging her to forget whatever it is she knows. It had to come out, I realize that now, but I wish it didn’t have to happen like this. “It wasn’t Coach,” I repeat.
“I wish he hadn’t covered it up. It was dark, and they were fighting in the road like freaking idiots. I have to do this for my brother. Everyone thinks he was involved in drugs again, but he wasn’t. He was clean. I have to turn him in.”
“Mia . . .”
She stops pacing and stares at me like I’m not hearing her. “I’m telling you there was blood under that car that doesn’t belong to a deer. It’s human blood. I had the lab at BHU test it.” She puts her hands in mine, and I have to pull away, otherwise I might bring them to my mouth, kiss her fingers one by one, trail kisses up her arms and along her jaw.
“I don’t want to let you go,” I whisper. “Every time you’re almost mine, I have to let you go.”
She frowns at me, and I know I’m not making sense. “I’m not asking for your permission, but I’m hoping you can understand why I have to do this.”
Her shirt’s damp from when she was pressed against me, and she takes my hands again, squeezes my fingertips in her palms, so desperate for the permission she says she doesn’t need.
“Coach wasn’t driving the car,” I say. “I know he wasn’t the one driving that car.”
“How would know that? You were drunk with Trish. The pictures were all over Facebook. How would you even know . . .” Her flushed cheeks turn pale, and every ounce of blood that drains from her face makes me feel smaller, more powerless. “Arrow?”
“I wanted to tell you.” Everything feels like an excuse now, and I don’t know how I can explain the claustrophobic hell that is being trapped from doing the right thing. Regret has gotten me nowhere, but if I could wipe my existence from Mia’s life to save her the pain I see on her face right now, I wouldn’t hesitate.
She drops my hands and backs away. One step. Two. She tilts her head first to one side and then the other, and narrows her eyes. It’s as if she’s suddenly realized I’m not the man she thought I was. Instead I’ve been standing in front of her all this time and she’s trying to comprehend how she never noticed that I’m a monster.
“I wanted to tell you, but I knew you’d want to go to the police.” More